A Princess and a Guy Like Him
by Sakura Tsukikage
Summary: Set shortly before The Empire Strikes Back. Han isn't enjoying helping the Rebels set up their new base on Hoth. HanLeia. Sort of.
1. Chapter 1

One

Everything about the Alliance was annoying him today.

The planet on which they'd chosen to build their base—Hoth was Sithin' freezing, and every time he moved icy air seemed to leak in even under his heavy coat and set his whole body shivering. He hadn't felt properly warm for weeks. The damage that last mission had done to his beloved _Falcon_, and the fact that the rebels were so poor even he didn't feel right making them pay for repairs. The bounty hunter he'd run into on Ord Mantell who'd reminded him that if he didn't pay off Jabba the Hutt he was a dead man. The sick feeling he got in the pit of his stomach when he looked at the ragtag group of fighters around him and thought about their chances against the sheer firepower of the vast and battle-hardened Imperial fleet. The reproachful look Chewie got in his eyes when the Wookiee knew he was considering cutting their losses and heading off to pay Jabba. The idealistic enthusiasm in the kid's voice when he talked about defeating the Empire and "bringing freedom and justice back to the galaxy" and the chilling, nauseating knowledge that Luke was more likely than not to die fighting for that cause that meant so much to him. The fact that almost all the food provided around the base was little more than iron rations, the old, beat-up technology they all had to struggle with every day, the inadequate protection from the cold provided by their uniforms (not that he wore them most of the time, but he hated seeing the kid shivering like that), their incredible shortage of supplies.

And the princess—star's end, the princess. Her Worshipfulness. That was what got to him the most, and he knew it, even if he struggled against admitting it to himself. Everything about her seemed to get under his skin and tear up the way he'd structured his life. It—well, it just wasn't _fair_. He didn't want this. Not after Bria.

And so everything about her was annoying the Sith out of him—the way she wore those tight braids pinned primly across her head and the knowledge that he'd never seen her with her hair all loose, those thermal jumpsuits she wore that weren't enough to keep a Kowakian monkey-lizard warm on this ice cube, let alone the princess of a dead planet who deserved better than this, the way she still flinched whenever anyone mentioned Alderaan, the way her eyes turned soft when she looked at Luke when she thought nobody noticed, the way her eyes flashed when she looked at him, how she struggled so hard not to favor the two of them when assigning missions but couldn't quite help it sometimes, the knowledge that the Rebellion had become her new family and that if she lost them, lost Luke, it would destroy her. The fact that Han didn't have a clue if she really cared for him or not. He hadn't felt like this since Bria, and it terrified him.

Sithspit, did it ever terrify him.

But the truth of the matter was that Han Solo just wasn't feeling very well, and everything annoyed him because it just made his life that much more difficult on a day that couldn't have gotten any worse.

Chewie roared a suggestion as Han dropped the hydrospanner at his feet for the fourth time that morning.

"No, no, Chewie, I don't want to take a rest," Han replied, and knew he sounded snappish. "I have patrol in ten minutes, and I wanted to get this done before then. Besides, I'm fine." He rubbed his bare hand across his forehead and it came away damp with cold sweat. His whole body was hot and cold in waves, and he was shaking uncontrollably. Han was not fine, but there was no doubt in his mind that it wasn't anything serious, and he wasn't going to skip a patrol and give the princess a ready-made excuse to continue thinking he was a scummy low-life without a shred of responsibility in his body. If he slacked off, there wasn't anyone to take the patrol instead. As always, the Alliance was strapped for personnel and could use all the help they could get.

Chewie roared again, and Han felt a wave of guilt 'cause he knew his buddy was just worried about him. "I'll be all right, Chewie," he said in a softer tone. "I'm just a little tired, okay?"

He could tell Chewie wasn't convinced, but the Wookiee gave a low growl of agreement anyway and went back to his welding.

Han tried to tighten the bolt he was struggling with and promptly dropped the hydrospanner again. He swore so loudly and vividly that a passing rebel turned to stare at him. "What're you looking at, huh?" Han snarled, and the man jumped and moved on.

Han turned back to the _Falcon _and braced his hands against the ship's side, watching them shake with a kind of morbid fascination. There was no way he was going to be able to tighten that bolt like this. He didn't even know if he could force his fingers to close around the hydrospanner again. He wasn't sick, exactly—either the cold was getting to him or he was just tired. But either way, his repairs on the _Falcon_ were a lost cause for the moment. Even he could tell that.

"Chewie?" he called more quietly, and the Wookiee looked up again with a quiet, questioning growl. "I think I'm gonna lie down on the _Falcon_, just for a minute, okay, buddy?"

Chewie nodded, making a slight wuffle of concern and looking at Han in a way that made him feel like Chewie could see straight through him.

"No, I'm fine," he protested with a little bit more heat. "Get me when it's time for my patrol, all right?"

Chewie rumbled an agreement. Satisfied, Han turned and headed up the Falcon's ramp.

By the time he reached the bunks, the world was spinning and blurry and Han felt slightly sick to his stomach. With an effort, he struggled out of his jacket, then, shivering so violently in the chill air he could barely function, fell into the bunk and tossed the jacket over his shoulders, burying his face beneath his arm so that he wouldn't have to see the world spinning.

He was lost in sleep before a Coruscant standard minute was up.

**Author's Note: **Han and Leia--the ultimate banter challenge. Not sure what possessed me to write this. To be continued, I suppose. After all, Leia hasn't even appeared yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Sorry this took me a bit of time to update. Working on my other story--A Resolution Between Shadows and Light--took up a bit of my time and real life kept intruding, but here I am, back to Han and Leia, from Leia's POV this time. And thanks to all my reviewers!

To Bob Stage: Glad you thought the writing wasn't bad at all and that Chewie and Han were realistic. Chewie is a bit of achallenge--I mean, do you put in what he's really saying when he's talking to Han or do you go with the movie's "Chewie growls and Han translates" thing. And Han should be better by the time the movie rolls around--it's one of those one-or-two day things, nothing too serious (like the cold I have right now--I should have known better than to write about someone getting sick. Now kharmic vengeance has visited me with sickness of my own.)

To Aladailey: Cool! They are, aren't they?

To Fragile Dreams: Yeah, I often find that Han isn't done quite right, even in the Expanded Universe. Um, let me rephrase that. _Especially_ in the Expanded Universe. I only hope I can live up to your expectations. As for his relationships toward Leia and Luke--in RotJ when she tells him Luke's her brother, I always see him thinking, "Your brother? Your _brother_! But--you _kissed _him! On the mouth!" That shocked look he gets is just so priceless. He was definitely thinking he had competition there.

To GreatOne: I'm happy you think it looks good! I like that kind of story, too (which is why I'm writing one). And you guessed what was going to happen next! How did you do that? You must have seen the same movies I did!

Disclaimer: All belongs to the Flanneled One and Lucasfilm. I own nothing, and unnecessary suits are a thing of the Dark Side.

Two

Everything about Han was annoying her today.

His beat-up, battered excuse for a ship, for one thing. Even after three years, she was still amazed the _Falcon_ could fly, but that, she supposed, came at the price of Han and Chewie banging on it all the time trying to get it to work. The fact that the cocky smuggler came as a matched set with Chewie, and for all her efforts she just couldn't understand Shyriiwook. Leia was a _diplomat_. She was supposed to understand alien languages. The way he treated Alliance assignments, as if they were a request he could choose to ignore. She knew he wasn't officially part of the Alliance, he was just hanging around and helping them out, and so he had every right to choose to complete his assignments or not, but since he was here, he might as well do as he was ordered and go out on patrol!

Leia only vaguely noticed that people got out of her way on the way to the _Falcon_. She supposed she was a little frightening when she got angry.

At least, when she got angry at Han.

Chewbacca met her at the _Falcon_ and growled something that Leia didn't understand. "Where is he?" she demanded. She didn't even bother to clarify who it was she was talking about. Chewie knew why she was here, anyway.

He whuffled, tilting his head to one side, and gestured into the ship.

"Thank you," Leia said icily, her annoyance growing with every step, and stalked past him into the ship. She got the feeling that the Wookiee was watching her, and that only made her angrier.

She realized once she got to the hold that Chewie hadn't indicated _where _exactly on the _Falcon _Han was. Leia let her breath out in a sigh of irritation and headed toward the cockpit, which was empty. As was the galley, the cargo holds, and other areas where the Corellian pilot might usually be found. _Really _irritated now that she was taking such a substantial chunk of time out of her busy schedule to search for a scruffy scoundrel who couldn't be bothered to show up on time, Leia headed for the bunks. She had a hard time picturing Han taking a nap, but she couldn't think of anywhere else he might be by this point.

She stalked into the sleeping area and spent just enough time looking around to place the recumbent form on the bunk covered with a battered blue jacket that had certainly seen better days as that of the man she was looking for before she started in on him. "Solo, do you realize that you were supposed to be out on patrol _five standard minutes_ ago? We don't exactly have personnel to spare, and your taking time out to nap isn't a good reason not to be where you say you're going to be. Or was your concept of time somehow skewed by all those years running spice?"

Han groaned and shifted his arm so that she could see one bleary brown eye and the mussed tousle of his hair. "Wha—?" he mumbled.

"It's time for your _patrol_?" Leia reminded him.

"Sith!" Han shoot up to a sitting position, only to bang his head on the metal bulkhead jutting out above the bunk. He let out a long stream of swearwords in various languages, only half of which Leia understood, and slumped forward to rest his head in his hands. "Wha' time is't?" he mumbled from between his fingers.

"Past time for you to be out on _patrol_," Leia told him.

Han reached a hand up and rubbed his fingers over the back of his head. "Tha' hurt," he said.

"That's what you get for sleeping on a bucket of bolts like the _Falcon_," Leia replied.

Han looked up at her and glared. He didn't look very menacing, eyes sleepy and his hair disheveled from slumber. "Highnessness, you can insult me, but leave my ship outta 't," he said tiredly.

That was not a retort up to Han's usual standard. Leia blinked, her eyes slowly taking in the exhausted slump of Han's shoulders, the violet shadows bruising the hollows of his eyes, the pallor of his skin beneath the tan he still hadn't lost even after nearly a month of living on Hoth. His shirt was rumpled and stained with sweat, his eyes red-rimmed, and he shivered slightly as she looked at him. "Are you all right, Han?" she asked in sudden concern.

He blinked and rubbed his hands over his face. His mouth opened as if he was about to say something—then he closed it and stood up. "Fine," he said. "I'm fine."

Leia was not convinced. She followed him as he picked up his jacket and made his way from the sleeping area out to the hold. "Han?" she said. "Are you sure? You look tired, and—"

"I'm _fine_!" he suddenly roared.

Leia recoiled. "Well, excuse me for asking about you," she bit back, stung. "You can be sure I won't bother in the future." She turned to stalk back out of the ship, angry at herself now, because every time she talked to Han they ended up snapping and each other.

All the energy seemed to leave Han in a rush, and he slumped forward to lean his head against the _Falcon_'s side. " 'm sorry, Princess," he mumbled.

Leia stopped in surprise. An apology? From _Han Solo_? "Uh—" she started.

"I mean' t' be on time," he continued. His hand tightened around the bar he was holding onto until his knuckles were white. "I r'lly did . . . ." He wavered on his feet and almost fell.

"Han?" This time there was no answer. Leia turned around and started back toward his side. "Han?" she said again, this time louder, more insistently, sliding one hand onto his shoulder.

He moaned a little, and Leia sucked in her breath and jerked her hand away as if she'd been burned. In a way, she felt as if she had—Han's shoulder had felt as if it were on fire beneath her fingers. "You're not all right," she stated, this time with conviction.

He shrugged half-heartedly, still not looking at her.

"Stang," Leia cursed under her breath. "All right, Solo, that's it." She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him toward her, away from the _Falcon_. He didn't put up much of a fight, instead dropping his hands and stumbling backward. Leia slid an arm around his waist to support him and he let his head droop down onto her shoulder. "I'm getting you back to bed," she told him. "Luke can take your patrol, I suppose."

That brought his head up. "Hey—" he started.

"Captain," Leia said, "you are _not _going out onto in the snow in this condition, and that's final."

He sighed, and she could almost sense his surrender. "Fine," he mumbled. "Fine. Wha'ever ya say, your worship."

Leia rolled her eyes and started leading him toward the bunks again. Instead of cooperating, Han stumbled forward so that his body was flush against hers, backing her up against the wall of the _Falcon_'s hold. Leia gasped. Han's body was hard and warm, damp and sweaty and hot with fever, and she was being enveloped in heat far more penetrating than anything she had felt since landing on Hoth. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest and knew that her own heart rate had practically tripled.

"Mmm," he whispered. "Y'know y'smell good, princess?"

"Han!" Leia yelped, unsure whether she should push him away or not. "You did that on purpose!"

He grinned, that roguish, lopsided grin she knew so well. "Yeah?" He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against her cheekbone. The slightly rough touch of his chapped lips against her skin sent a tingle from the top of Leia's head to the tips of her fingers. Han buried his face against her hair and inhaled long and deeply. "Really good," he whispered.

"Han!" she gasped, whether in outrage or in . . . well . . . she didn't know, but she hated how breathless she sounded.

"Hey," he said, his voice a low rumble against her ear that she felt more than heard, "I'm feverish, I'm no' responsible for my actions . . . ."

"Get off me, flyboy!" Leia panicked at the feelings and emotions rushing through her, the heat pooling in the pit of her stomach, and she pushed him off of her with a quick elbow right in his stomach. Han grunted and stumbled back, only to trip and to land unceremoniously on his behind.

"Yeah," he announced to the air, "she liked it."

Leia stalked forward and grabbed his arm, aware that her cheeks were flaming bright red. She couldn't do anything about it. "Come on," she said. "I'm getting you back to bed."

"Oh?" Han slurred, looking up at her hopefully. "Jus' can't wait, can ya, Princess?"

"You are _impossible_!" Leia hauled him to his feet a lot more roughly than she had intended and pushed him in the direction of the bunks.

"Sure I am." Han looked back over his shoulder at her. "Tha's why ya like me."

Leia shoved him into a bunk. "Stay there while I call General Rieekan and ask Luke to take your patrol," she ordered.

"Your wish is my command, your Highnessness," Han mumbled.

Leia fought back the urge to slap that infuriating grin off his face and stalked in the direction of the cockpit and the nearest comm device.

**A/N: **You know you want to review this. Even if you think I suck and want to "crush me, grind me into tiny pieces, and blast me into oblivion." I still want to know what you think. You _will _review this. You _want _to review this. (Is my Jedi mind trick working?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** It's all Lucas's.

**Three**

Han had not been asleep before Luke Skywalker's voice came echoing into the crew quarters. Definitely not. Falling asleep only a few moments after Leia had left him alone there was a clear sign that he was worse off than he'd thought—so it hadn't happened. He'd been, uh . . . thinking; that was it. The fact that he jolted upwards, startled, at the sound of the kid's voice, and banged his head on that damn bulkhead again had no significance whatsoever except as an example of how dangerous the kid's heretofore undiscovered talent for sneaking up on people could be.

Luke ducked into the room just in time to see Han groan and slide his fingers up into his hair to check the damage. "Han?" he said. "Are you all right? Leia said you're sick or something. I'm supposed to take your patrol."

Han dropped his hand and sighed. "She's overreactin'," he said. "Maybe I'm not feeling the best I've ever felt. Maybe. But it's nothin' to get all worked up about."

Luke smiled and made his way further into the room. "Give it up, Han," he said. "We both know this is just a sad attempt to get out of having to go out there and patrol." He bent over, bracing his hands on his knees so his face was at eye level for Han where he half-lay half-sat on his bunk, and said, "What'd you do if you didn't have me around to do all your work for you, huh?"

"I'd be able to relax, since you wouldn't be around to get yourself in trouble every other minute," Han replied.

Luke shrugged. "So you say, but I'm not the one lying in bed too weak to stand up right now, am I? I'm not the one in trouble here."

"Hey," Han said. "I can so stand up." He struggled up on one elbow, then laid his hand flat against the edge of the bunk and pushed himself upright, stubbornly ignoring the way the _Falcon_ and Luke with it wavered and spun around him. "See?" he said, a little relieved he'd actually managed it.

"All right, all right!" Luke said quickly, and his hand was strong and steady under Han's shoulder just his precarious balance gave out and he wobbled and started tilting dangerously sideways, one hand flailing for the wall behind him. Where had it gone all of a sudden? "I was wrong. You can stand up. Now I think you should lie back down; you've made your point and all."

Han thought maybe he should argue, but the idea of lying down was starting to sound awful tempting, so he let Luke ease back down to his bunk without complaint. After all, the kid was right, he'd made the point. He could see, even through all the blurry dizziness, Luke crouch down beside him and tug his glove off, stick it beneath his arm, and reach out to lay one hand against Han's forehead. "Whadya doin'?" he mumbled. Luke's hand was cool and comfortingly solid when everything around him was dissolving into the kind of streaky whirling he expected when he was in hyperspace, not when he had his boots planted firmly on solid ground. Or was lying down a bit above that solid ground, anyway.

"Taking your temperature," Luke said. He hesitated a moment, then turned his hand to press the cool backs of his fingers against Han's sweaty forehead, brushing the damp tendrils of his hair gently back out of his face. "Aunt Beru always used to do it for me when I was sick." Han thought about protesting once again that he wasn't actually sick, but he didn't think it'd be too convincing at this point, considering the circumstances, and Luke could always see through him when he was lying anyway. Musta been something that old Ben Kenobi had taught him, since the old fossil'd been good at it too. Luke blew his breath out and pulled his hand away. "Han, you do realize you're burning up, right?" he said, his voice anxious as he set about pulling his glove back on.

"Sure," Han said. "But it's nothin' much. It'll blow over and be gone in a day or so. You know me, kid. I'm tough." He thumped himself in the chest and then winced as his fist came in contact with his fever-tight skin. When had that started hurting so much, huh?

"If you say so," Luke replied, then waved his hand in a placating manner as Han opened his mouth to protest his lack of belief. "No, Han, I know you're plenty tough," he said. "I'm sure that by the time I get back in from patrol you'll be feeling as good as new and be tearing the _Falcon_ apart with Chewie like always."

"Not tearing her apart; trying to _fix_ her," Han muttered, disgruntled.

He could see the amused twist of Luke's lips. "May the Force be with you then," he said wryly.

Han had to let a low chuckle escape at that. "Ha," he said. "Keep your hokey religions to yourself, kid. Now go on. You don't want to see the Princess's face if this patrol gets delayed any more than it already has."

"You're probably right about that," Luke allowed. His blue eyes, the same color as Hoth's far-off polar icecaps but a thousand times warmer, traveled over Han's face as if searching for proof that he was telling the truth and he really would be all right. The kid practically radiated honest concern. Huh, Han thought, when was the last time someone other than Chewie had looked so genuinely worried about him, of all people? What did Luke see in him, to actually care so much that Han wasn't feeling so good? It was an unfamiliar feeling, almost uncomfortable because he was so clueless about how to deal with it, but at the same time he wouldn't have given up the concern in those clear blue eyes for a million credits, Jabba or no Jabba. This kid and the Princess were worth more than he'd ever be, and the idea that either of them cared about him at all was so crazy he still couldn't quite process it. It scared him a little, to tell the truth. Well, okay, a lot. He wasn't any good at this kind of thing. Luke trusted him, but he was vapin' awful at being trustworthy.

Hell, that was why the Her Worshipfulness scared him so much. He wanted to be trustworthy so bad for her. And just look how well that'd turned out the last time he'd tried it.

Yeah. Not going there.

"You'll be all right, Han?" Luke asked, all that worried sincerity spilling out into his voice. Not that Luke was too good at hiding stuff like that in the first place.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," he said. "Don't worry about me, kid. Now scram and stop wasting your time. I'm good. I'm just gonna lie here and rest up a bit."

"Okay," Luke said, and straightened up. "If you say so." He looked down at him for a moment more, and Han fought the urge to drop his eyes and look away from that warm blue gaze. "Take care of yourself, Han," he said finally.

"Hey," Han said. "I'm not the one heading out into the freezing snowfield. You be careful, now."

"Aren't I always?" Luke replied, which was completely ridiculous because how often did the kid get himself in trouble again? But Han didn't say anything. "I'll see you later."

"Sure thing, buddy," Han replied, and watched as Luke walked off and ducked out of the compartment, raising a hand in farewell. When had the naïve farmboy turned into the experienced military officer he'd just been talkin' to, anyway?

Whatever. Luke was still Luke, big blue eyes and farmboy idealism and all. Han laid his head down against the flat pillow of his bunk and slung one arm over his eyes to block out the dim light.

Was her Worship ever coming back or was he gonna be stuck here all alone?


End file.
